After looping around the western shore of Lake Tahoe, we headed west on U.S. 50 and picked up California State Route 89 down to 88 East. Right before we crossed into Nevada, running hard with a Siata, we sensed a dark presence on the other side of a rise and cut speed.

Good thing, too, as the California Highway Patrol had swept up a group of cars and had another patrol vehicle waiting a couple of miles down the road for anyone who thought that the guys caught in the first net were the only ones who'd suffer in the steely grip of the hand of law.

Suitably chastened, we motored easily into Minden and Gardnerville for lunch. I love that little corner of Nevada--flat grasslands nestled up against the eastern edge of the mighty Sierra. The light is unlike anywhere else in the state.

Bellies full, we took in the scrubby majesty of Nevada State Route 341 en route to the historic town of Virginia City, home of the apparently world-renowned Suicide Table. We're still not exactly sure what the Suicide Table is.

We puttered along with Tim Mullins and Jamie Doyle in their lovely little 1947 Cisitalia 202 Gran Sport. Featuring a hot-rodded 1,100-cc Fiat engine, the tiny machine cranks out about 60 horses. That doesn't sound particularly impressive until one considers that it was 60 hp from 1.1-liter in freaking 1947.

After a stop at the National Automobile Museum in Reno, recently crowned one of the five best auto museums in the country by this very publication, we headed up Mt. Rose and were treated to the sight of David Swig hurling his Pininfarina-bodied Lancia Appia into a corner as if he were on the run from the Carabinieri. Yes, he was actively trying to get a ticket, for the sake of proving that the little gray-and-black V4-powered coupe could actually break 55 mph.

Back up an Incline, we swapped stories from the day and once again gazed longingly at the Fontana-bodied Ferrari 212 owned by Peter Carlino. Expect a full story on that car very soon. It's utterly fantastic.

Today, we're heading back down the mountains. We will not be listening to "California Here I Come" as we motor west because, well, c'mon, man. That's just cliché.